


Hubris

by enseeyar



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Asphyxiation, Bloodplay, Dubious Consent, Freeform, Love Triangle, M/M, Mind Games, Power Dynamics, Prompt Fic, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2017-04-27
Packaged: 2018-05-14 02:34:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5726545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enseeyar/pseuds/enseeyar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courier Six plays a dangerous game with a dangerous man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for a prompt on the fallout kink meme.

"Where're you going?"  
  
The Courier tightens on the knot of his silky black tie, scrutinizing his reflection in the mirror. He notes the dark stubble on his jaw, regretting his decision not to shave. Almost a full minute passes before he answers, "Doesn't matter."  
  
Boone doesn't argue. He doesn't expect him to. It's one of the things he likes best about the man's company. His complacency or, if not that, his apathy. Few disagreements, fewer arguments. He's a good soldier and there's something to be said for that. As long as he keeps killing legionaries, Boone will gladly follow any order that Six gives him.  
  
It's too bad, he thinks, that he doesn't plan to kill any legionaries tonight.  
  
\- -  
  
As the doors to the Lucky 38 click shut behind him, a gentle breeze flows through his hair, tousling it and making the strands tickle his ears. He runs his fingers through it to try and straighten it. Eyes are already on him, the nervous tingling under his skin makes him painfully aware of the fact. Groups of gamblers and soldiers litter the strip, their laughing faces shining with neon light in the darkness. He finds it almost unnerving, the way the flashes of colored brightness highlight certain features while deepening the shadows of others. There's no way of knowing one face from another in such a light. People are only fragments of clothing with bared teeth and the same set of glittering eyes repeated over and over again, yet despite this he looks carefully at each of them, hoping to spot the one he knows watches from somewhere amongst the commotion of voices and lights.  
  
When he feels he's looked at each person, he finally makes his way down the steps, staring at nothing but the ground before his feet until he's pushed himself through the doors at The Tops.  
  
"Welcome to The Tops," says the greeter. Six doesn't acknowledge him, instead he raises his hand in greeting to Swank, who nods stiffly at him. Nobody would try to have him turn over his weapons here, for fear of ending up as floor paste like Benny, but he still makes sure to acknowledge Swank whenever he comes by. One hand on Maria in her holster, the other drawing Swank's attention to him. He does not allow the Chairmen to forget who owns this place.  
  
After he makes his way to the elevator, he looks around again. He sees nobody, so he slips his key into the lock on the control panel and listens to the steady whirring of the elevator as it climbs down towards him from the 13th floor. He looks at the time on his pip-boy -12:18 AM- and just as he begins to wonder how long he'll be kept waiting tonight, a pair of hands grip his shoulders from behind and shove him face first against the steel doors. He feels a warm body press against his back.  
  
"You sure took your time." He says calmly, despite the rapid thudding of his heart. "I don't really like people sneaking up on me."  
  
The doors slide open, causing him to stumble forward into the elevator. He turns around and before he can speak again his bottom lip is caught between sharp teeth and he feels a small jab of pain before a droplet of blood runs down his chin. A tongue enters his mouth and all he tastes is the sweet rusty tang of his own blood, he moans softly into the kiss and feels nails clawing his chest through his shirt. The warm mouth pulls away from his own and then there are teeth brushing softly against the tender skin of his neck, sending a shiver down his spine. "Vulpes..."  
  
A palm presses against his mouth. "Do not speak my name with your degenerate tongue..."  
  
The Courier grips the hand and pulls it away from his mouth. He stares straight into the other man's eyes. "Vulpes," he says again, slowly, deliberately. He mispronounces it, as he always does.  
  
The legionary shoves him against the wall, gripping his hair roughly. "Do you desire punishment?"  
  
Six grinds his hips against Vulpes', grinning coyly. "Maybe."  
  
Vulpes hits the button on the control panel.


	2. Meeting

_Thirteen days earlier_  
  
Vulpes is slightly surprised when the Courier takes the seat beside him at the blackjack table. He knew it wouldn't take long for the Courier to become aware of his presence, the man has eyes everywhere within the Strip and Vulpes has already shown his face to him once. Inside the strip, it's always a matter of when -not if- he would be found out. However he had to admit he'd assumed the man would try to snap his neck from behind rather than casually sitting beside him.  
  
When the Courier doesn't spare so much as a glance towards him, Vulpes does wonder if by some chance he hasn't been recognized after all. He waits for the Courier to place his bet before he rises from his seat, setting a single $50 NCR bill in front of the dealer. He's gotten away with it for now, he thinks, until the Courier snorts. "Dunno who you think you're fooling." Vulpes freezes in place as the man chuckles softly under his breath.  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
Six turns and they exchange looks. "You heard me, Vulpes." He tenses, expecting to be ambushed by Chairmen. Instead, Six reaches for Vulpes' sleeve and pulls him back down into the seat beside him. "Play a few more hands. Maybe you're better at cards than at infiltration."  
  
He bristles at the insult. "Very well." The Courier places a stack of chips in front of both of them and strums his fingers absently on the table.  
  
The dealer clears his throat and shuffles the deck quickly before tossing cards in front of each of them. Vulpes is given a five and a six and surrenders the hand.  
  
The Courier gets a hand of seventeen, "Hit me," he says cheerfully. The next card is a four. A perfect twenty-one. Next he's dealt a nine and a ten, "Hit me." The dealer flips the next card. A two. He continues to hit on every hand he's dealt and Vulpes ignores his own cards in favor of watching the Courier's towers of chips grow taller with his luck.  
  
He feels restless, simply sitting idle and watching like this without having any way of knowing what to expect. Since he wasn't attacked right on the spot, then that means the Courier likely has some other intentions towards him. Maybe he plans on making an example of Vulpes, or some other fate more sinister than simply gunning him down in a casino. On the other end, he thinks, it's possible that Six's lack of hostility towards him could indicate some form of weakness or uncertainty in his loyalty to New Vegas. Perhaps now he might be able to re-shape the man's view of the Legion with just a few carefully formed words. Caesar's reward for the Courier's corpse is considerable, but almost certainly nothing compared to what it could be if he brought the man to him alive and willing to serve the Legion. Vulpes finds the prospect quite appealing, and he finds himself engrossed by it until Six rises from the table, stirring him from his thoughts. He follows suit, knowing without needing to be told that the Courier expects him to follow. He leaves the few chips he has remaining and lingers a couple feet away while the man collects his winnings from the cashier, as well as a complimentary bottle of whiskey.  
  
Six sets a hand on his shoulder and holds up the bottle. "Drink with me," he says. Not offering, but not really demanding either. Vulpes follows silently as he's led to a table in a distant corner, comfortably far from prying ears. A waitress slides up to them instantly and sets two glasses down in front of them, then is gone as quickly as she came.

The Courier unscrews the cap to his whiskey and pours bronze liquid into each glass until they are both half full. He sets one cup in front of Vulpes before wordlessly taking a gulp from his own.   
  
Neither of them speaks for some time. Vulpes' mind is full of words intended to sell the Legion to the man who has fought them harder than anyone, but he wants a clearer picture of the Courier's intentions before he begins his pitch. Six lights a cigarette and Vulpes takes a few small sips of the strong liquor as he waits patiently for the man to speak. He examines his surroundings as he drinks, and he sees vice and dissolution all around him. Nearby, a man in a tattered grey suit stares vacantly at the slot machine before him, coming to life only long enough to suck liquor from the neck of his beer bottle. At a table across the room, a heavyset woman holds a canister of jet to the lips of the almost-naked prostitute sitting on her lap. He looks the other direction and his eyes fall upon a man grinding his hips into another man whose back is pressed against the wall, the man is dressed in a silky black suit like the Courier's, only rumpled and filthy. Vulpes turns his head away from the sight and ends up locking eyes with the Courier, who seems to have been watching him as he watched the rest of the casino.   
  
"Why are you here, Vulpes?" Asks the Courier, at last. Vulpes finds himself unexpectedly angered by him using his name again, so casually. Pronouncing it wrong to add insult to injury.   
  
"Why must you waste my time with questions that you already possess the answer to?" He says curtly, fixing the man with a cold look.  
  
Six smiles at him in return. "Maybe I just like to ask questions. I don't think it's a waste of time to ask rather than to assume." He leans forward over the table, and Vulpes eyes him warily. "Why are you here?" He repeats.   
  
"You know exactly why I'm here, Courier." He chases his words with another sip of his drink.   
  
The Courier grins coyly at him and leans back in his chair. "Please, call me Six." He crushes his cigarette in the ashtray.  
  
Vulpes still isn't sure what to make of the Courier's behavior. He may have expected tactful politeness from the man, but not of this sort. Six has killed too many of his men, left too many piles of limbs along the road from Nipton, for Vulpes to expect this kind of exchange to be possible. Either the Courier truly is reconsidering his allegiance, or there is something more devious at play here. Suspicion rises to the forefront of his thoughts and he isn't sure if it's justified, or simply a defensive reaction to the Courier not behaving in the way he had wanted him to.   
  
Seeming to pick up on Vulpes' suspicions, Six reaches over the table and sets his hand on Vulpes arm. "Relax. I'm just trying to be diplomatic." It's an attempt to be reassuring, but Vulpes only feels his suspicions deepen. He jerks his arm away.  
  
"I'd say we're long past the point of diplomacy." 

"Are we? And here I thought we were having such a good time." Six's smile still doesn't falter and it makes Vulpes' jaw clench. It seems that he's practically being handed his chance to offer the man a place serving under Caesar, and yet he he can't shake the feeling that he'd be playing into the Courier's hands by doing so.   
  
"I have no interest in your foolish games, Courier."   
  
"You must. Why else would you be here?" Six gulps down the last of his drink and then lights another smoke. "I know it's not to kill me." He continues on. "Now  _that_  would be truly foolish. To make an attempt on my life, inside my own city, surrounded by NCR and securitrons?" Vulpes seethes at the man's confident laughter, knowing the words to be true. The Courier seems to take notice of Vulpes' agitation and his expression grows serious. "What, does that anger you, Vulpes?" He says in a low voice. "Were you sent here to kill me, despite the fact Caesar knows it's impossible? Has his mind deteriorated so much that he's wasting one of his most valuable men on-"  
  
The thud of his fists hitting the table echoes in Vulpes ears before he's even aware of his actions. He's on his feet, leaning over with his face only inches from the Courier's, his teeth are bared and he grates them together to keep from shouting. "Enough," he hisses. "I will not have you speak ill of Caesar in my presence, nor continue to address me by name, a privilege which you have not earned."   
  
Six clears his throat softly and casts a meaningful look around the room, Vulpes follows his gaze and notices that every guard in the room is watching him, guns drawn. "I'd sit down if I were you."   
  
Reluctantly, Vulpes heeds the Courier's advice and slowly sinks back into his chair. The guards still glance at him, but lower their guns and pretend to continue on with their business. "Coward," he spits.   
  
Six snorts. "Says the man who is put in his place by a few Chairmen."  
  
"Says the man who was put in his grave by one Chairman."  
  
Six goes rigid, now looking like he may lunge over the table at Vulpes. Despite being outmatched, he can't help but wish that the Courier would try. Vulpes' hand goes towards where his razor is hidden inside his suit jacket, futile or not, he doesn't intend to go down without taking some of the enemy with him. A few tense seconds go by and then the smile returns to Six's face, looking only slightly more forced now. .  
  
"Perhaps another drink." Says the Courier, the cigarette in his hand has gone out and he drops it into the ashtray before refilling each of their glasses. "Maybe you'll be more fun once you've had a few."  
  
The man's dark eyes gleam mischievously at him and Vulpes is now fully certain he's being played, though to what end, he still cannot be certain. He's suddenly angry at himself for entertaining the notion that this degenerate could be turned into something useful to the Legion. He lets out a long breath, trying to steady himself. It's no matter, he thinks. The Courier wants to play manipulative games, then he will play, and he will win. He uncoils one of his hands, only now realizing that his fists had been clenched, and stiffly takes his glass, raising it in a mock toast. Six picks up his and clinks it against Vulpes'.   
  
"Cheers!" He says brightly.  
  
Vulpes smirks and silently gulps down every last drop.


	3. Zero Sum Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a partial re-write to help fit better with the next chapter

Should have just killed him, thinks Six.

He still could, nothing's stopping him. Maria is still in her holster, resting comfortingly against his leg, and the legion prick is at least half-drunk at this point. He can tell he's trying to hide the fact, but Six lives among the perpetually intoxicated and he notices the way Vulpes' posture has gone from robotic to casually slumping in his chair. One of the man's arms arm rests on the table, long narrow fingers loosely wrapped around his empty glass. It would be so easy. There's really no reason not to, Vulpes will try to do the same to him as soon as he gets the chance. He refills both of their cups and tosses the empty whiskey bottle to the floor.

Six caresses his glass thoughtfully, wondering at his own actions, at what he could be hoping to gain from not killing him. Someone so high up in Caesar's ranks will be no good for information. No matter how much liquor is provided to him, Vulpes' lips will undoubtedly remain sealed. Meanwhile each moment that he allows the man to remain alive and within this city, he is putting himself and everyone on the Strip at risk. Still, as he studies the man's face; the sharp features combined with smooth lips and pale eyes, cheeks flushed from the liquor, he feels compelled to keep him alive. Killing him so plainly seems almost a waste. 

Six knows Vulpes is an intelligent man, one who can't be easily subdued by his charm or his strength. He can't help but feel that it'd be so much more enjoyable to make a game of things before he rids the wasteland of this man's particular brand of evil. After all, it's been so long since he's had a worthy opponent, and something to keep his mind sharp within the dull safety of his city could do him good. It’s been too long since he’s done any jobs or even gone out hunting and, if nothing else, he’s desperately in need of something to keep himself busy besides just drinking and gambling his days away. He nearly shakes his head at the thought, almost worried for his sanity. His friends would certainly think he was insane if any of them were to stumble upon this little exchange. Boone likely wouldn't be the only one who'd shoot them both dead right on the spot, and rightly so. 

"So." He says, taking a long sip of his drink, savoring the familiar burn in his throat. "What will you do once you leave here?"

Vulpes seems to ignore the question at first, staring past him with narrowed eyes and taking a small sip from his glass. Six taps his fingers on the table impatiently. 

After a few beats, Vulpes meets his gaze again. "Allowing me to leave would be a mistake on your part." It's spoken as a fact, not a threat. 

Six grins, an idea forming in his mind. "Well, I guess if I can't let you leave, then your only option is to stay here." He reaches into his pocket, withdrawing one of his keys to the 13th floor elevator, and sets it on the table between them.

Vulpes cocks an eyebrow at him. "You can't possibly expect me to be your prisoner?" 

"You're hardly a prisoner if you have a key. I'm simply offering accommodations." Six laughs. "I thought it seemed like a good alternative to me gunning you down before you can leave, or you stabbing me in the back the minute I let you go." 

He watches Vulpes reach out to take the key, holding it in his hand for a moment, wearing an unreadable expression. Six finds himself holding his breath. 

Vulpes seems to size him up for a moment, cold eyes scanning his face, his clothes. "I shall consider your offer." He murmurs, slipping the key into his breast pocket. 

Six slams back the rest of his drink. "Guess that means you want me to show you first." His head is spinning as he springs from his chair, it topples over and clatters loudly as it hits the floor.

Vulpes rises more slowly, almost cautiously. "Lead the way, Courier." 

* * *

As the elevator doors slide shut, Six's stomach drops, his previous illusion of control evaporating as he realizes how little he's actually thought this plan through. Being in confined space like this is unbelievably risky, puts him at an immediate disadvantage. He can fight with his hands when he needs to, but he knows one doesn't rise through the ranks of the Legion without being able to overpower opponents far more skilled than himself. 

He'd been so focused on luring Vulpes into a more private location that he hadn't considered the additional complications in doing so. There's no way the other man intends to simply follow him passively to the suite, he certainly wouldn’t if their positions were reversed. 

Six swallows hard, annoyed with himself, tense with anticipation, waiting for Vulpes to seize the unintended opportunity he's presented him with. 

Neither of them speak. Each breath he draws is slow and deliberate, careful not to betray the racing of his heart or draw attention to his twitching fingertips. Vulpes remains as still as stone to his right, and Six can't help but shoot a quick glance towards him to try and see if his face might betray what he's thinking. 

That's exactly when Vulpes makes his move.

There is no warning, no indication besides the slight shaking of the elevator floor, before Six's vision bursts into white static. His neck is caught in the crook of Vulpes' elbow, cutting off his air and the blood to his brain. A flurry of words are hissed into his ear, vicious and incomprehensible as he struggles, strength ebbing away with each beat of his heart.  
  
His mouth opens, to plead for air, to ask what was said, to scream, but he can't feel his lips, or his tongue. The best thing to do would be to go limp, play dead, hope that Vulpes can be fooled into releasing him before he's truly unconscious. Instead, his body's desperation for oxygen makes him struggle pathetically, unthinkingly. The edge of his vision starts to dim, his entire body pounding desperately along with the beat of his heart. 

Just as he's about to black out, the back of his head manages to collide with Vulpes' face. Six slips from the weakened grip and whips Maria from her holster. Vulpes makes a hasty grab for the weapon and Six slams the butt of the pistol into his face, dropping the man to his knees. 

Six's gasping breaths fill the tiny space of the elevator, ringing in his own ears. His throat burns and he can feel a million tiny needles prickling beneath his cheeks. As he tries to steady himself, he takes in the sight of the legionary at his feet. The back of Vulpes' hand is pressed against his bloodied lip. Sharp, calculating eyes now unfocused, staring at nothing. As he admires the dark crimson blood contrasted with the pallor of Vulpes' skin, Six finds himself strangely enticed, finds that he quite enjoys seeing Vulpes like this. 

The elevator lurches to a stop, a loud _ding_ announcing their arrival.

“Get up,” orders Six, still breathing hard.

Vulpes doesn't seem to hear him, continuing to stare blankly at nothing.

“I said,” Six reaches down and hauls Vulpes up by one arm. “Get up.” He shoves the man through the doors and steps out behind him just as they slide closed.

He watches the frumentarius stand shakily on his feet for a moment before his senses seem to return to him. Once his eyes snap back into focus, he glowers hatefully at Six.

“You should have just let your Chairmen shoot me.”

Six shrugs, taking aim with Maria. “Yeah, and you should have killed me the minute I sat beside you.” He gestures towards the open hallway with the gun. “Turn. Walk. First set of doors to your right.”

Vulpes narrows his eyes, giving Six a long look before turning away from him and stepping slowly down the hall. Six follows behind, gun aimed at the back of Vulpes' head, until they both stop in front of the closed doors.

“Open it." 

Vulpes obeys and as soon as the latch clicks Six shoves him into the room with his elbow. The legionary stumbles forward with a soft grunt as Six steps inside and slams the door behind himself. 

* * *

Once the door clicks shut, silence surrounds them for a moment. Six catches himself staring at the floor, trying not to see Benny's blood staining the carpet even though the stains have long since been scrubbed away. When he looks up, he sees that Vulpes isn't looking at him either, instead studying the walls and frame of the door behind him.

It's Vulpes who speaks first. “So, Courier. You have me here, where you wanted me.” His eyes flicker briefly to Six's.“Will you kill me now?”

Six says nothing, steadying Maria's sights on him. Vulpes shifts slightly and stares past him again.

“I thought not,” murmurs Vulpes thoughtfully, calmly, as though he's the one in control of the situation. “Can't bring yourself to do it, can you? I hadn’t pegged you for a coward.” 

Six snorts at that. “I'm not the one who tried to run away.” He sees Vulpes' jaw tighten at the words, and smiles coyly. “No, I think you're the one who can't bring himself to kill me, for whatever reason.” 

He's expecting Vulpes to outright deny it, but instead the man mirrors his coy expression. “Make no mistake, Courier. I would gladly kill you, but I would more gladly convince you to reconsider your… current diplomatic standing with the Legion.” 

It takes a moment for the words to sink in. He's about to ask how Vulpes plans to convince him, but it's not especially important and he finds he doesn't especially care, either. No doubt there's more to it than that, something else staying Vulpes' hand, and he's more curious how far he can go with it, curious just how much he can push Vulpes, get under his skin. He lowers his gun and steps closer to the spy, leaving himself wide open to an attack.

“Then do it,” he says, challenge in his voice. “Convince me, or kill me. Seems like your only two options.”

Without a moment's hesitation, Vulpes is upon him again, taking the chance to lunge forward and grab Six's wrist, catching him off-guard and attempting to tear the gun from his hand. Six squeezes the trigger -hoping to get lucky and graze Vulpes, or to at least startle him into letting go- and feels a weight sinking in his gut when, instead of a deafening shot, there is only a startled little clicking sound. Jammed. Useless piece of shit, he thinks, letting the gun drop from his grip.

“You really ought to keep your weapons in better condition,” chides Vulpes, not relinquishing the grip on his wrist. “Especially given how lacking you are in hand-to-hand skill.”

With his free hand, Vulpes grips the front of Six's suit jacket and shoves him back against the bar to his right, the edge of it digging painfully into his spine. Before Six can react, the cool narrow blade of a straight razor presses against his jugular and the legionary's lean body presses against the rest of him. He shivers at the warmth against his ear as a stream of Latin words are growled at him. Though he doesn't understand what was said, it's easy enough to guess.

Six squirms beneath Vulpes, feeling the hard edges of the man's hipbones digging into him, the leg rubbing against the inside of his thighs. He swallows the noise that rises in the back of his throat as the razor presses more firmly against him.

“Thought you wanted to convince me,” manages Six, a nervous smile pulling at the corners of his lips. “I'm not feeling very convinced.”

Silence stretches thinly between them. For a moment, Six believes himself finished, thinks maybe he's pushed too far after all as he sees the red-hot fury gleaming just behind the frumentarius’ cold blue eyes.

And yet, after a long pause, pressure eases off the blade.

Vulpes' face turns in disgust as he pulls the razor away from Six's neck, and now Six is doubly curious. Could Caesar's reward for bringing him back alive really be marvelous enough to make this man, the man behind the Nipton Massacre, reluctant to kill? It would explain why Vulpes didn't attack him in the casino…

He feels a slightly triumphant look creeping across his face, before Vulpes redoubles his grip on his jacket and leans in close, snarling at him.

“You are a worthless degenerate," his voice is dagger sharp and drives a shockwave down Six's spine. "Unworthy even of Caesar’s hatred, yet for some reason he thinks you valuable, sees potential...” He pushes himself harder against Six, crowding him, caging him in. Despite that they're nearly the same height, Vulpes seems to tower over him. "But I see nothing but a weak opportunist. A fraud who makes his home in the palace of one worthier than himself, who can only claim credit for what he has stolen from those more deserving." The last words are nearly a growl and Six can feel them echo inside his chest for a moment while Vulpes' stares vehemently down at him.

The edge of the bar continues to press painfully against his spine and he squirms uncomfortably beneath Vulpes, able to feel his heartbeat drumming into him at every point of contact.

This is an entirely different side than he’s seen of the usually-stoic frumentarius. Fraud or not, he’s certainly managed to get under the other’s skin. Six wets his lips, enjoying the prospect of being able to work himself even deeper into him. If a bit of alcohol is enough to bring out Vulpes’ temper, to enable Six to pull his strings in such a way, he wonders what else the man is capable of when pressed. Perhaps his Legion-discipline isn’t quite what either of them thought it was.

A moment passes between them and Six's eyes trace along the dried blood on Vulpes' lip, the still-intoxicated mist of his blue eyes and the way his dark eyebrows are drawn low over them. The machinations of Vulpes’ thoughts are almost audible to Six, yet still just tantalizingly out of his reach; instead, the only thing he can hear is the radio playing off somewhere in the bedroom, can't even make out the song, just the quiet din of it echoing through the otherwise pervasive silence. He realizes Vulpes is close enough that they are practically sharing the same breath, the same aftertaste of whiskey passing between them both. Something about it makes him swallow thickly, half an idea forming in his mind.

“Fraud, opportunist… interesting insults coming from a spy,” murmurs Six, and the immediate widening of the other man’s eyes sends a delicious flash of satisfaction through him. He drops his voice an octave lower and leans up towards Vulpes, lips brushing against his smooth-shaven cheek. Six can smell the frumentarius’ cologne, just barely covering up smell of campfire and gunpowder. “Are you jealous of me, Vulpes? Does it just _grate_ on you that I’m so much better at what you do than you are?”

Vulpes growls and bares his teeth like a defensive animal, his hand abandoning its hold on Six’s jacket to instead close tightly around his throat. His entire body is wracked with a shudder, the thrill of getting a rise out of Vulpes dancing with the very opposite thrill of being restrained so bodily, with such ferocity and dominance. It’s like combining the rush of a physical fight with a carefully-crafted seduction all in one, and it makes one hell of a drug.

“You know _nothing_ about me, profligate,” bloodied lips curl into a malicious smile and Six’s entire body is wracked with a shudder as Vulpes’ hand grows tighter. Not quite cutting off his airflow completely, but enough to subdue him, enough to hold him up as his knees start to go weak.

Six watches as the man’s other hand brings the razor back into his line of view. He could probably break free if he tried, but there’s something intoxicating about the way the blade shines in the dull overhead lights of the suite as his blood pounds against the inside of his neck, its flow impeded. He doesn’t want it to stop. Fighting with Vulpes, the push and pull of it, the way it can just continue on as they both hold off on making the final blow… it’s almost addictive. He can’t remember the last time he felt so alive, cooped up inside the walls of Vegas as he has been.

Vulpes’ leg, still pressed against the inside of his own, shifts just slightly and Six resists the urge to press into him. Suddenly incredibly warm and aching for more contact, for more pain or pleasure or _anything_. A deep, gnawing ache builds in the pit of his stomach, even as he tries to push it down. He can feel himself growing hard against Vulpes leg, even as he begins to grow lightheaded from the tightness around his throat.

This is wrong. So incredibly wrong. Having his fun with Vulpes and jerking him around is one thing, even seducing him could be excused, but not actually getting off on it. He must be beyond sick...

The grip on his neck loosens by a degree, just enough to keep him from passing out, and he can’t contain the gasp that escapes him as the dark edges around his vision disappear, every nerve on his body suddenly lighting up, burning, _wanting._ He watches as Vulpes licks his lips and wonders if he’s getting the same sort of thrill from having him pinned like this.

He hopes he is.

Unable to resist any longer, he leans his head back up towards Vulpes’, sharing the same breath for another moment before he brushes his lips against the frumentarius’. All his thoughts vanish into smoke as he feels how surprisingly soft Vulpes is, the coolness of his skin. Hardly even registering the urge, he grinds his hips into Vulpes’, seeking friction from the body pressing so violently against his own.

Vulpes exhales sharply, the sound feeding straight to Six’s cock, before the frumentarius jerks his head back, breaking the kiss and fixing Six with an unreadable expression.

His heart thuds painfully against his ribcage, once, twice, then he's released from Vulpes’ grasp, sinking to his knees, his legs seemingly have given up on supporting him. And here he’d thought he hadn’t drank nearly enough for that to happen...

Six feels a cold hand on his head, shivering at the sensation of long fingers entwining themselves in his hair as Vulpes' silvery voice washes over him, “You disappoint me,” the grip on his hair abruptly tightens, making him wince. “Seems your dissolution runs deeper than even I had suspected.” 

Six says nothing, too preoccupied by the cool fingers in his hair along with the tightness of his pants. He knows he’s going to regret this, but finds he almost doesn’t care. He needs this. Needs to hurt, needs to feel good. Maybe he can work his way close to Vulpes like this, make him believe he’s willing to accept the Legion to gain access to their higher ranks, then destroy them when they’re least expecting it... Though not even that would absolve him of this betrayal, nor would it free him from his guilt over what Boone would think if he were watching this happen.

Vulpes brings his other hand up, still holding the razor, and presses it against Six’s warm cheek.

“Are you enjoying yourself, Courier?” Vulpes murmurs, softly dragging the dull side of the blade down Six's face. 

Six grins coyly up at Vulpes, a challenge rising in his voice as he asks, “Are you?”


	4. Reversal

Vulpes gives no reply. Instead he viciously tightens his grip on the Courier's hair, eliciting a satisfactory yelp of pain. A loud ache radiates from where the Courier's gun struck him, stoking the rising flame of anger in his chest. He yanks the man's head back, forcing him to stare up into Vulpes’ eyes as he turns the razor, pressing the sharp edge against Six's cheek.

The Courier looks up at him through his eyelashes and despite being on his knees and completely at his mercy Vulpes feels the silent challenge pouring from his gaze. He carefully traces the blade downwards, along the edge of the firm jawline. Waiting for retaliation. Searching the opaque depths of Six's eyes for something he’s not sure of.

At this proximity, he can see an irregularity in the man's right eye. His pupil is blown, almost consuming the entire iris. The inky colour of both makes the difference incredibly subtle, even at this distance. Chems, he guesses, or perhaps some type of blindness caused by the Chairmen's bullet. He stores the information in his mind for later.

“No answer?" Six taunts, almost under his breath. Vulpes grinds his teeth together, the hand on the razor stiffening, leaving a rivulet of blood rolling over the man's jaw. Unflinching, he continues on, "Guessing that means 'yes'."

Act, don't react, Vulpes reminds himself, trying to reign in any further impulses. His intoxication has left him too quick to anger, lashing out blindly while Six pulls his strings and calls all the shots. But no more.

He takes a long breath, moving the razor slowly down, and makes another shallow cut. This time just over Six's carotid artery, marking him in his most vulnerable spot. Careful. Controlled. He creates a string of bloody dewdrops along the man’s neck, until the blade comes to rest against Six’s adam’s apple. Vulpes feels him swallow against the steel, watches the muscles contract.

"I do find it enjoyable _,_ " he says at last, offering Six a self-satisfied sneer to accompany his words, “Seeing you lower yourself in such a way.”

He's so close right now, finally granted the chance to bring Six back before Caesar alive as he’d been instructed. But he may be able to take it further than that. Perhaps he cannot change the Courier’s view of the Legion, but he may be able to maneuver him to the Legion’s advantage via other means. He smiles at the thought, enjoying a small rush at the prospect of holding such power over the Courier.

The Courier believes himself to be luring him into a trap. Baiting him. It’s no guess how will the Courier will proceed if he pretends to take the bait.

Vulpes moves his free hand to his belt and unfastens it slowly, deliberately; never taking his eyes off Six's. He can almost see straight into the Courier now. Can see the uncertainty, as well as that spark of intent, the careful arrogance. It feels satisfying to get a look past Six’s cheap demeanor, to watch fear and doubt clawing their way to the surface. Experimentally, he runs a finger through the thickening trail of blood along Six's cheek, indulging in the shudder drawn by his touch. The blood tastes of copper and sweetness as he licks it off his hand, watching the mixture of emotions playing out on the Courier's face.

Yes. All it will take is for him to play along, to take the bait only to turn at the last moment and strike when least expected. And he intends to enjoy both actions in equal measure.

Vulpes returns his hand to Six's hair and traces his hand gently through the dark strands. " _Hoc consilium tuum esset, Courier?_ ” He murmurs. Enjoying the fact that Six cannot understand, cannot reply. Instead, he simply looks up at Vulpes, those dark eyes expectant and clouded by arousal.

It’s no mystery _what_ he’s expecting, how he intends for this to play out. The fact is written on his face, particularly in the way his gaze wavers over Vulpes’ unfastened belt. How often has the Courier been in this same position, he wonders. If he were not so enjoying the man’s uncharacteristic silence he might be inclined to ask him. Ask how many times he’s gotten on his knees to use his mouth for a different kind of negotiation. Ask him if this is how he won the favor of the NCR.

Something about the thought -the image of Six on the floor like this, maybe tucked beneath a desk as he licks and sucks his way up the ranks-, makes heat coil in Vulpes’ stomach.

His own intentions, however, are different than the Courier’s. While profligates may be bribed and seduced by such things, Vulpes is of a different breed than them. His pleasure comes not from the carnal act but in breaking down the man’s barriers, one by one.

Dragging the metal across the cuts he’d made once more, then withdraws the weapon from Six’s neck and folds it, tucking it back into the inside pocket of his suit jacket.

"On your feet," he commands, and Six hesitates for a moment before obeying, shakily pushing himself up and and standing with his shoulders defensively hunched. His crisp black suit is disheveled now, one of his buttons has come free and a drop of blood stains the pearly white collar of the shirt beneath.

Vulpes closes the space between them quickly and grasps the lapels of Six's jacket, pushing him backwards into the bar again, making the Courier grunt.

His lips just scarcely brush against the man's steep jawbone before he dips his head to trace his tongue along the cuts. The sweet, coppery taste of the Courier's blood forcing a groan from deep in his throat that he doesn't quite manage to stifle.

Six whispers what sounds like " _No_ " and Vulpes' lips curl at the weak protest. He removes one hand from Six's jacket and trails it downwards until his palm pushes against the man’s clothed erection. Vulpes feels himself being shoved back at, but he presses forward harder and squeezes harshly through the fabric.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Six moves a sturdy hand moving to push aside Vulpes'. "-Don't." His voice falters on the word, his voice is rough and insincere.

Vulpes licks his lips, the taste of blood still lingering. As his mind slowly clears of its inebriated fog, he finds himself becoming increasingly fascinated by Six’s reactions. So willing, so ready to work Vulpes over like some kind of weak NCR officer, but withdrawing once Vulpes rises to the bait.

Perhaps it’s different than Six had expected, kowtowing to your enemy rather than your circumstantial ally. Perhaps he wasn’t as prepared for the actuality of it as he’d thought.

Or, perhaps he hadn’t fully anticipated the possibility of Vulpes taking the bait. He nearly laughs at the idea, both pleased and yet almost disappointed at the man’s foolishness.

Elated by the sudden shift of Six’s demeanour, Vulpes presses flush against him, feeling himself hardening against Six’s already-erect cock because _gods_ it feels better than he could have imagined, to dominate his prey so completely, to control not only his body, but his mind. He rolls his hips down against Six, who returns the action by arching up against Vulpes, breath hitching and eyes fluttering at the friction between them.

And without even realizing he’s doing it, Vulpes brushes his lips against the warm skin of Six’s ear, “Is this what you want?” he breathes, punctuating the question by rutting dryly against Six once more.

This time, the Courier has nothing to say. And with his silence Vulpes knows he’s won. He runs his tongue down along the junction of Six’s neck and his jaw again, recovering every speck of dried blood before placing a series of teasing kisses there.  
  
Six weakens beneath his touch, a small gasp forcing its way out of him, which Vulpes quickly stifles by pulling him into a rough kiss. His lips claiming the Courier’s like he’s a possession, a slave. Just the thought of the Courier as a slave sends a thrill through Vulpes, makes him growl into the man’s mouth.

When Vulpes finally severs the kiss, Six’s voice, low and needy, fills the space between them. " _Please._.."

Vulpes wonders if the man even knows what he's begging for.

The Courier is a sight to behold now, though. Eyes glossed over, trapped against the hard surface of the bar, one of his hands resting almost tenderly over Vulpes' own gripping onto his suit. At his mercy in every possible way.

He finds he quite enjoys seeing the Courier like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Actual-new chapter, a whole year later. Oops.)
> 
> Full disclosure: Though I do have another chapter planned out, I haven't fully decided on whether to continue with this story. The original prompt-maker is long since gone, but I still wanted to get this update up before I considered whether to proceed. Anyone who read this far, thank you for sticking with me.


End file.
